


Scribbles from Beyond

by fifthhollow



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, F/F
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-08
Updated: 2016-10-05
Packaged: 2018-06-07 05:58:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,536
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6788755
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fifthhollow/pseuds/fifthhollow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Soulmate marks can be really odd and confusing especially if no one ever told you that such things existed</p><p>or</p><p>Soulmate AU where whatever you write on your skin shows up on your soulmate's skin.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The first mark is a flower. It has two leaves and six petals and thin black lines.

Allison's eyes go wide at the sight of it on the previously blank patch of skin. She frantically scans her surroundings, but the clearing is as silent as it has been for the past hour, the animals having vacated the premises soon after her arrival.

She realizes her arrow had completely missed the target in front of her and for the first time in her life, she doesn't care. The quiet of the trees, once soothing in their ambivalence to her actions, gains a sinister tint. Her eyes never leaving the flower for long, Allison hurries to gather her things and sets off.

It takes 1 hour and 34 minutes for Allison to get home, she spends almost every second of that time rubbing furiously at the skin on her forearm until it began to hurt, and then rubbing just a little more. Her desperation and frustration grows steadily as she watches a vine stretch itself slowly around her other arm.

It takes about 30 minutes for her parents to get home. She spends ten of those figuring out that water and soap are equally useless, another ten finding a longsleeve sweatshirt, and the time left freaking out over seemingly random _things_ appearing on her skin _against her will._

When her mom pokes her head into Allison's bedroom and gives her a searching look tagged onto a sharp smile before asking about her what she spent the day doing she replies quickly, _far too quickly_ she later chastises herself, replies something along the lines of archery practice and homework.

Allison Argent is fourteen when she decides to keep the weird marks that begin showing up on her skin a secret from everyone, especially her parents.

 

* * *

 

 

After the first of the panic subsides, Allison begins trying to find out _why_ these things were appearing on her arms and now, occasionally, her upper thighs.

The first place she looks, of course, is the internet.

After two hours of searching things like “images appearing on skin”, “pictures on skin”, “magically appearing images”, and “where did the picture on my skin come from” only to be met with a veritable barrage of websites dedicated to telling her that she had a deadly skin condition and a few about optical illusions and 3D images, Allison decides to try again tomorrow and maybe check the local library. 

 

* * *

 

 

It doesn't take the brunette long to realize that the marks seem to be as unaware of her as she wishes she was of them. This revelation comes to her on the coattails of another, one just as significant and surprising.

The marks are drawings, someone or something is drawing on her.

Some part of the athletic brunette, a part that seems far too much like her mother, is angry at herself for not realizing it earlier.

Another part of her of her is patting itself on the back for managing to connect the idle way the kid next to her in Biology wielded his pen to the forest sketching itself along her forearm.

The jury is still out on if these revelations make things better or worse.

 

* * *

 

 

Time passes and searching for a reason behind the images becomes more of a ritual than the hunt for the truth that it once was.

As months and then years slip by, the marks slowly become more comforting than concerning, more encouraging than haunting, and more like gifts than curses.

Allison tries to fight the dulling of her suspicion and apprehension, tries to stay wary of the images that brighten her days, tries to remind herself of things like Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets and how nice Tom Riddle's Diary was to Ginny Weasley, but it's been two years and the pictures have asked nothing from her in exchange for tripping beautifully across her skin.

The images run the gamut from small doodles of flowers and cute animals to complex networks of geometric shapes and twisting swirls to extremely precise renditions of plants and nautilus shells.

Allison tries, she truly does, to keep an objective view of the images that spread themselves across her skin before disappearing into the ether, but the marks make their way into her heart and eventually she really doesn't mind how much she loves them.

 

* * *

 

 

Allison Argent is sixteen when she stumbles across what could only be considered a lead in the most generous use of the word, but considering it was the first hint that Allison was not somehow the only person in recorded history that had something like this happen to them, maybe it was time to get generous.

It was a thread in the folklore subreddit titled 'Okay so these words just showed up on my skin...' chronicling how one user had the words 'Hi there' show up on their arm in the middle of class and then proceeded to have a written conversation with some unidentified person using their own skin as the messaging medium after some prodding from said person.

Somehow the idea of writing back never occurred to Allison, but of course she had random pictures not a very clear and concise greeting to deal with.

The thread disappears the next day but the seed has already been planted. Allison has always been a woman of action and finding out that not only was she not alone but that there was a _real person_ , perhaps unknowingly, sending these images to her has set the fire inside ablaze with the need to do _something_. But Allison has been raised to be a _cautious_ woman of action so she holds off on scribbling across her own skin despite how desperately she wants to.

She decides to finally tell someone about her secret, someone she can trust without fear of judgement who can give good, solid, logical advice. She's going to tell her Aunt Kate.

 

* * *

 

 

Luck strikes and the next week Allison finds herself standing next to Kate in the middle of a clearing during one of the 20-30 minute windows the pictures have taken to appearing.

Allison knows she should be paying attention as Kate shows her how to use the crossbow she just pulled out a sports bag but she's seen this movie before and the best chance she has of having Kate witness the appearance of the images as the indisputably supernatural thing that it is, is to show her as soon as it begins.

The heavy thunk of metal cleaving itself into wood sounds off nearby but registering dull and far away as Allison watches entranced as the lattice framework of a molecular structure crawl across her bare arm.

Kate swings around to face her niece, the crossbow loose in her hand, only to find the usually enthusiastic younger girl staring at her arm with a look of slight adoration on her face.

"Aunt Kate? There is something I really need to tell you about," Allison shifts so both her arms are hidden behind her back and her newest mark is covered as much as possible, "and ask you about. It's been happening for a while now," she sighs softly, "and I don't know what to do. I-"

"Allison," there's a predatory glint in Kate's eyes but her smile and her voice are warm, "please, you can trust me with anything. You should know that by now."

Allison simply clenches her fist and raises her hand with the latest mark facing outward.

 

* * *

 

 

Allison is eighteen when she considers telling someone else about the marks.

_Don't write on yourself, anywhere on yourself, not unless, I and only I, I tell you to._

_If words show up, don't do **anything** except grab a weapon and call me. _

_Be careful with pens, paint, anything that can smudge. I'm not sure what will show up and what won't and we don't want to risk it._

_Don't tell anyone else about this._

_This is a really big deal Allison and I can't stress enough how dangerous these marks are._

_The monster on the other side of these pictures doesn't know you're getting these but when it learns, when it learns, you and everyone near you will have to fight for your lives._

Kate's rules and warnings pop back into the forefront of her mind the second the thought is processed.

Laying next to Lydia in the shorter girl's bed with their schoolwork scattered around them, Allison weighs the possible danger against how freeing it would be to be able to talk to Lydia about her secret.

"Were you listening to a single word I said?" Lydia asks.

"Yeah, definitely..."

All it takes is a quirk of her eyebrow and Allison finds herself backtracking.

"Okay, you had me up to the symbolism in the door being red."

Lydia's mouth ticks upward at the edges as she fights a small smile, "Speaking of red doors, how did studying with Scott go?"

Maybe the decision not to tell Lydia would have been harder if the marks didn't stop coming while they were together.

 

* * *

 

 

It's the night of the Winter Formal and Allison can't stop from wondering why nothing has shown up on her arm.

Unless she's with Lydia, this is when things would start to appear.

But she's not with Lydia, because Lydia is laying in a hospital bed with a _hole in her side_ and not telling Lydia her secret did _nothing_ to keep her safe and the cute, sweet boy she thought she could love is a _lying monster_ and all the guilt she felt for hiding the marks from her parents is now proved to have been a _waste of time and concern_ and now she’s in a car with her aunt on the way to _fight werewolves._

And now, one of the few constants in her life refuses to appear, refuses to let one part of her life remain untainted on this day. Everything has gone to hell in the past few hours but Allison can’t help but let her thoughts stray to the artist on the other side of her skin, to wonder _why_ they aren’t drawing something this time, to wonder _why_ they don’t draw anything when she’s with Lydia, to wonder if they have something to do with werewolves, to wonder if they’re not writing because the monster is _finally_ coming for her and the people she loves.

 

* * *

 

 

"I don't believe you."

"Good, here," Kate says as she tosses a marker to Allison.

Noticing Allison's confused expression, Kate sighs, "Your arm. Write something, draw something, whatever, just make it very, very visible. After that, you can take out Scotty boy here, and we can meet your mystery monster. Chances are that it's not the Alpha but it's probably nearby so if we draw it here we can pit the two of them against each other."

Kate saunters closer casually shooting Derek Hale and aiming then her gun at Scott.

Allison's gaze shifts from Derek's limp body to Scott's terrified expression, "I thought we were just going to catch them."

"We did, now we kill them."

Taking a step back, her mouth set in a grim line, Allison drops the marker and levels an arrow at Kate with shaking hands. 

"So that's how it's going to be?"

"Scott may be a liar but he doesn't deserve to die and I'm not going to call someone here just for you to kill them."

Kate scoffs and rolls her eyes, "Here we go, you don't really want to do shoot me, do you? It's that thing that's making you like this isn't it? I've seen you peeking at your arm the whole ride here. All it took was some pretty pictures and-"

"Kate. Allison. Everybody needs to put their weapons down," Chris says calmly as he walks out from between the trees.

"Fat chance of that happening, especially with little Ally here siding with the monsters."

"I'm not-"

"Allison's werewolf boyfriend is not the issue right now. He's 16 sixteen and there's no proof hurt anyone, we're going to talk about that later. I know what you did."

"I did what I was supposed to do and, by the way, I wasn't talking about Scott."

"It doesn't matter right now. There were people in that house Kate. There were _children._ We have a code."

The door to the Hale house bangs open and everyone and their weapons turn to focus on the darkness inside the derelict building.

 

* * *

 

 

 "Because I love you," Allison says as she stares deeply into Scott's eyes.

"No, you don't. You might think you do, but you don't," Derek states firmly as he walks towards Peter Hale's body.

"You don't know what-"

"You're feeling? You're right, Scott, I probably don't. I've had my heart broken but I've never had the misfortune of falling in love with someone who has a soulmate," Derek says as he crouches low and quickly slashes Peter's throat before anyone can protest, his eyes turn red as he takes in the as he takes in the group of shocked teenagers in front of him.

Derek's eyes make contact with Allison's as he continues, "Messages and things have been showing up on your skin. That's why Kate wanted you to write on your arm," Derek continues, the pounding of Allison's heart and the shocked stiffness of her stance telling both him and Scott that his statements were on target, "Let me guess, she told you that it wants to kill you and everyone you love. I don't know about how true that will turn out to be, but one form of soulmate connection is to be able to 'share the markings placed upon your flesh'."

A moment of stifling silence fills the air. Derek lifts Peter's corpse onto his shoulder and turns, beginning to walk deeper into the woods, facing the trees he begins to speak again.

"I'm the Alpha now, Allison Argent has a soulmate powerful enough to magically connect to her extremely human skin, Peter Hale is dead, Kate Argent deserved a worse fate than she got, Stiles is an asshole, and the sky is blue, these are the facts and you're all going to have to learn to live with them."

 


	2. Chapter 2

Allison knows she should be worried and maybe a little bit afraid, but all she feels is frustration. Lydia's in the hospital, her _soulmate_ has gone silent, supernatural creatures are real, Kate's dead, Scott McCall is a _werewolf_ , it's currently somewhere around 2AM, and she is engaged in a stare-down with her mother instead of actually getting any answers to the questions buzzing around in her head.

The tense silence that has settled over the living room of the Argent home is broken as Allison's father sighs heavily before setting his mouth in a grim line and asking, "How long?"

"About four years."

"Did you tell anyone?"

"Just Aunt Kate," the words come out in a whisper that might as well have been a shout for how loudly it resounds through the room.

"Why?" Chris Argent's voice is noticeably strained and Allison chokes down the urge to comfort her father.

"Kate is-was," Allison flinches as the vivid memory of Peter ripping Kate's throat open assaults her mind. Taking a deep breath, Allison continues, "cool. I thought I could trust her.”

"Why didn't you tell us?"

Allison’s frustration returns tenfold from where it had been tamped down by sadness and guilt. She wants to yell about how they raised her to be normal, skilled and capable, but oh so _normal._ She wants to shout about the way they sneer at people who so much as dare to get _normal_ tattoos. She wants to throw a lifetime full of lies and expectations at them in response.

But she doesn’t.

Instead, she looks down at her (achingly blank) arms, the sight of the pale blankness of her skin making something inside of her churn unpleasantly, huffs out a sigh, gets up, and swiftly makes her way to her room, ignoring her father’s surprised calls of her name, grabs a stack of composition notebooks from where they were hidden inside her closet and strides back into the living room.

Holding the stack out to her father, Allison speaks sharply, “Here."

Moving to sit back down and continuing to speak, significantly softer and more hesitant now, she says, "All of the... images... I've been... receiving, I started copying them down sometime near the beginning." 

Taking a deep breathe Allison watches her parents skim through the notebooks as they sit in the heavy silence.

"Is this _all_ of them?" Some part of Allison isn't surprised that this is the first thing her mother has said during this whole conversation.

"They're all there. Well, almost all of them. Kate, she, took one of the notebooks. I don't know what she did with it or where it is... This, these, until last night they're all I know about what's been happening. They'd show up and be gone in an hour."

Allison knows her tiredness and frustration are showing and maybe she should consider just shutting her mouth because her mom is giving her one of those _looks_  but at this point she really can't pull up the emotional effort to build a wall to hide behind right now. "I know you probably want more but I don't know anything else about the...pictures... or the person- thing... that's been sending them."

There is a beat of almost painful silence before Allison releases a heavy sigh. "If there's nothing else-"

"Did you believe what Derek Hale said?"

She knows she shouldn't, she doesn't know him, had never even met him before last night, but calling the person, creature, _whatever_ on the other side of the pictures her soulmate just felt  _right._ Still, Allison knows what they want to hear and though it feels a little like she's betraying her other half, making her parents happy could help keep Lydia and Scott, who are very real and very much  _actually here_  safe so she responds, "Of course not."

 

* * *

 

Lydia is missing.

No, that's not right.

Lydia is lost. 

In the _woods._

_N_ _aked._  

And has beenfor _days,_  with a barely healed _wound in her side_ that almost _killed her._

Lydia Martin might be dead for the second time in less than a week.

That means it's been less than a _week,_ less than seven goddamn days, since the last time Allison was unable to keep her safe.

It's been less than a week since Allison realized how _powerless_  she was.

It's been less than a week since Allison realized how naive and clueless she was.

It's been less than a week since Allison received anything from her soulmate.

She tries not to think about them.

Between searching for Lydia, preparing for Kate's funeral, worrying about Scott, and waiting for 'the others' her parents talked about, Allison feels like there shouldn't be time to think about them.

But the thoughts, dark and cold, don't seem to care and slither through her mind anyway whether she's sitting at home eating breakfast or crouching behind a tree watching her father threaten Scott.

_They know you're weak. Why would they want someone as pathetic as you?_

_They hate you for never writing back. It's too late now, you lost your chance._

_Kate was right, they never cared about you._

_They've abandoned you. Can you really blame them?  
_

 

* * *

 

 Allison stares at the, now blank, skin on her arm, the memory of haphazard and frantic black scratches skittering across her flesh before disappearing in as much of a disjointed fashion as they appeared keeping her from focusing on the schoolwork in front of her. Tearing her eyes away from her arm, Allison looks over to where Lydia is sprawled out beside her on her bed looking unfairly beautiful in the midday light and can't help but wonder aloud, "Do you believe in soulmates?"

Lydia looks up from her math book with a contemplative hum and head tilt before responding, "That they exist? Yes. That they matter? No."

"Okay you're going to have to explain that one a little more, Lyds."

Lydia pins Allison with a look that somehow communicates that explaining this is actually a great and undue burden on her that she is nonetheless willing to bear because she loves Allison.

"Sweetie, there are several _b_ _illion_ people in the world. I think it's logical to assume, knowing that statistic, that for any given person, there exists or has existed a perfect complement in all ways, at all related points in time, in the form of another human being. Soulmates existing is not the problem, soulmates _connecting_ is. There are so many people and places in the world, the idea of just happening to meet and strike up a conversation with the exactly right person just isn't realistic. The closest 99% of people get to their soulmate is probably smiling awkwardly at them on the street or in an airport. Unless you have a magic GPS, finding your soulmate is about as likely as finding a werewolf."

Allison barely manages to hide her surprise at the mention of werewolves and the sinking in her gut as Lydia's words hit home, choosing to instead focus on the look in Lydia's eye as she finishes speaking.

"That's why I said they don't matter, there are a lot more people out there that are _almost_ perfect," Allison can't help but think of Scott, and how absolutely heartbroken he looked when they broke up, "within arm's reach. Why should we waste all this time and energy chasing an impossible dream?"

"You've given this a lot of thought."

"I spent a lot of time watching Disney movies when I was little. Plus, I had an inquisitive mind and not nearly enough to do. Eventually, it was either try to dissect True Love or read the encyclopedia."

"You did both, didn't you?"

"You know me so well."

They lapse into a comfortable silence and Allison knows this won't be the last time she's glad Lydia came crashing into her life.

 

* * *

 

_I think I'm losing my mind._

The memory of rises unbidden from where it had been tucked away in Allison's mind.

The two of them sitting in her room with the Bestiary sitting untranslated on her computer and her parents and Gerard just down the hall.

Lydia was visibly shaking and uncomfortable and in pain.

Lydia was confiding in her.

And she just brushed it off.

_Why? Why did I do that?_

_Because I was **busy**. _

_Busy doing what? Trying to be the perfect little hunter?_

Allison snaps out of internally beating herself up because now  _Peter Hale is looking at her._

Peter Hale who should be dead.

Peter Hale who she saw die.

Peter Hale who is standing over Lydia's passed out body right outside Hale house in the middle of the night.

For the first time Allison honestly considers her soulmate connection to be a curse.

Not even half an hour ago she received a series of spirals made of soot and ash winding up her arms accompanied by a strong pull to this location.

Not even half an hour ago she was feeling relieved because finally she was getting something that resembled the pictures of before instead of the agitated black slashes of recent.

Not even half an hour ago Allison was feeling excited because _finally_ something clear and concise was happening on the soulmate front.

Not even half an hour ago Allison thought Lydia was safe and happy having fun at her party.

Not even half an hour ago her soulmate was still a faceless and nameless being, existing only in the theoretical sense and as part of the images on her skin.

Allison almost wishes she could go back to the world of half an hour ago.

She barely spares a moment to think as she pulls out her daggers and runs at Peter Hale.

If she had spared a moment to think she might have realized some things that might have affected her choice of actions.

Like that Peter Hale is a werewolf.

Like it's a full moon.

Like Peter Hale has _years_ of fighting experience.

Like Peter Hale has night vision and she doesn't.

Like she had been hallucinating due to wolfsbane poisoning less than an hour ago.

Like Peter Hale's hatred of her family has been building and festering for six years.

The fight was not fair, but it was quick.

Allison manages to duck the first swipe of Peter's claws only to get knocked through the air by a kick to the gut.

The air gets knocked out of her lungs when her back hits a tree, but she manages to keep a hold of her daggers.

Peter is on her within a second, grabbing Allison by the throat and lifting her into the air, his grip solid but not restrictive. In a bid for escape, she attempts to slash at him, managing a couple solid strikes to his back and shoulder.

This has the opposite of the desired effect and results in Peter tightening his grip on her with a snarl, his eyes flashing blue. 

Air becoming a problem, Allison drops her daggers in lieu of desperately clawing at the hand around her throat.

"Now, unlike _some_ people, I am a reasonable man. So, I'm going to give you twenty seconds to beg for your life and try to convince me not to slit your throat like I did with your dear, sweet, Aunt Kate."

Allison says nothing and just continues gasping for breath and glaring at Peter.

"Shame, of all the Argents, you are undeniably the most tolerable. I'm going to go out on a limb here and guess that you're not going to tell me how you knew where we were or if you're alone."

"What...did you do...to Lydia?"

"I helped her become what she needs to be. Oh, come on, don't give me that look, she's not hurt...at least not physically," the smirk on his face makes Allison want to hurl, "I must admit your friend had much stronger mental walls than I expected. It took _weeks_ to break her down, it's a good thing the dead have all the time in the..." a look of confusion crosses Peter's face as his eyes fixate themselves on her arms, his voice becoming soft and incredulous"...world." 

"Can... all werewolves... identify... soulmate marks... on sight... or is that just a... Hale family... thing?" Allison knows she shouldn't goad the man holding her life in his hands but it's the last form of attack she has and she's not going down without giving it her all.

Peter begins using his free hand to try and wipe away the nonexistent soot and ash on her arms, "You?  _Seriously._ Beacon Hills is full of surprises these days."

The edges of Allison's vision have begun to blur and she knows, based primarily on how his smirk has somehow become _more_ predatory,  that Peter knows she won't be conscious for much longer.

"Does Scotty boy know? Must have broken his little puppy heart. This changes  _everything._ Tell Lydia I said hi."

\----

When Allison wakes up she finds herself slumped against a tree near Hale House. It takes a good minute or two to figure out where she is and why.

She spends half an hour frantically looking for Lydia near where she saw her only to find her when she finally makes her way back to the Martin residence.

Allison is struck by how _normal_ and put together Lydia looks. Like she had spent all of last night getting beauty sleep instead of passed out in the woods after resurrecting Peter Hale. 

Lydia is acting like nothing happened yesterday, well, other than a rowdy party as she kicks out the groggy teens that had passed out in her house at some point during the night, so Allison resolves not to mention last night until Lydia does and to hold off on analyzing just _how much_ she loves Lydia Martin until there's time, until everyone's safe.

So, she just begins helping her soulmate clean up the mess from the party and tries to deny how  _good_ calling Lydia her soulmate, even in her head, feels.

  

* * *

 

The reaction is almost automatic.

Two arrows fly in quick succession, one into Matt's knee, the other into his hand.

His hand which was holding a _gun_.

A gun which was pointed at _Lydia_ , but now lays on the ground, clear across the room, out of Matt's reach.

The third arrow is loaded and ready to fire, aimed at Matt's head, with barely a thought.

"Allison," Scott says, surprise and relief tinging his voice. He stands between Matt and his mother, one hand on a desk the other arm covering his lower abdomen.

"Allison?" Matt grunts, pain, confusion, and what could possibly be betrayal swirling in his voice as he looks back and up from where the arrow in his knee left him kneeling.

"Allison," her dad whispers, sounding worried. He came in behind her and she can see from the corner of her eye that he is unsure of where to point his gun.

" _Allison_ ," Lydia breathes, her voice equal parts fear and awe.

Allison's eyes finally leave Matt to make eye contact with Lydia.

Her arrow goes back into the quiver as she steps over Matt to crouch next to where Lydia is kneeling on the ground next to a passed out and scale-free Jackson Whittemore.

"Are you okay?"

"I-I think so. Allison, what-"

Looking from the bodies stacked in the corner to Matt to Jackson's still form, Allison decides to cut off the questions she's not sure she'll be able to answer by asking, "Scott, what happened here?" 

Scott shifts awkwardly, suddenly aware of the way everyone was now looking at him, looking at his mother before beginning to hesitantly speak, "Well, uh-"

"Wait a second, just wait a second," everyone except for Scott had seemed to have forgotten that Melissa McCall was in the room at all and the sudden assertion of her presence was a slight bit jarring, she continues speaking, addressing the room at large but focusing on Chris as the other adult in the room, "all of the questions can be put on the back-burner until we get these kids to a hospital. Scott has been _shot,_ " she makes eye contact with Matt, "Matthew, is it? Has two _arrows_ sticking out of him, not that he didn't deserve it, but still... and I still don't know what just happened to him," she gestures at Jackson's prone form, "but at the very least, he needs to get a check up."

"If we're leaving we should-"

Suddenly, Matt lunges forward, trying to grab for his discarded gun on the floor, only to be stopped by Scott reaching the gun first with a burst of werewolf speed and crushing it with a solid stomp of his foot.

"Try anything else and that'll be your head," Chris says almost conversationally, nodding at Scott he asks, "Are you alright?"

"They were normal bullets," he mutters in response, obviously avoiding the sight his mother's shocked expression and Allison can't really blame him.

"Now that we're sure nobody is going to die," Chris picks up a marker from one of the desks and tosses it to Allison.

"Here?"

"Call it a father's intuition."

Scott steps forward, "Mr.Argent, this really isn't the time-"

"There really isn't a better time, especially considering," Chris raises his gun and points it at Scott, the grim line of his mouth set, "nobody's leaving until you do it. By the way, _these_ aren't normal bullets."

Without another word Allison rips the cap off the marker and begins slashing wide black arcs across her arm, "There, happy?" she bites out as she throws the marker onto one of the desks.

She tries to keep her eyes locked with her father but ultimately fails when a soft gasp catches both of their attention.

Scott is the first to break the tense silence, "It's... Lydia?"

Chris returns his gun to its holster and exhales long and low, eyes focused on his daughter, "How long have you known?"

"Since the last full moon. How long have _you_ known?"

"I didn't _know_ until a couple seconds ago, but I've suspected for weeks."

"Allison," Lydia sounds tired and scared and Allison has to actively fight the urge to run over and hold her, " _explain._ "

Allison wants to tell her that they are soulmates.

Allison wants to tell her about the years she spent falling in love with Lydia's creativity and intelligence.

Allison wants to tell her about the months she spent falling in love with Lydia's wit and beauty.

Allison wants to put all her cards on the table and confess her love to Lydia Martin.

But Allison doesn't do any of that, because right now what Lydia needs is a friend not a lover.

Plus, her dad and Scott and _Scott's mom_ are in the room, which each present their own problems.

At least that's what she tells herself when she simply says, "It means we're connected."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song I was listening to while writing this:https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eH4F1Tdb040
> 
> I'm kinda annoyed by how long it took me to get this out. I planned to make this the last chapter but then I remembered how badly Lydia was gaslighted in season 2 by _everyone_ and dropping "by the way we're fated to love each other" after that made me uncomfortable.
> 
> So, I'm curious, does anyone want a Lydia POV of this fic. Like, in the long run?

**Author's Note:**

> This story is unbetaed so if you find anything wrong please tell me.  
> I write for fun and comments.


End file.
